I wake up around three-ish each night; I feed the cats, take a leak and then usually read a book, catch up on my emails or scroll through twitter feed tinkering with some or the other issue that will only come back into existence with my morning alarm.
It is a productive and peacefull time and I've grown quite fond of this night overpass between one day and the next.
Once that the munching and slurping of tasty catfood subsides ears are filled with only the white noise of household appliances and occasional outside noise. Books feel like vast oceans in that unusual lack of stimuli and attention has unique physical presence.
When I'm particulary unsettled, like I am now, I soothe myself with meditation of listening to my own heart beating in this engulfing silence. Worries become huge menacing beasts, dragons of disquiet, whose fierce might just burns themselves out, leaving but a fading memory by the morning light.
Many times the act of putting down tablet or turning down the reading light reveals the fact of not having to also turn off the radio, even if some music has followed me quite persistently through my reading hour. Sometimes the music within me is so strong it does not even need to come from the outside.